Trials of Sincerity
by balai
Summary: They tried to make it work. They tried for years, and with all their might. It was only natural, after all, and it should have been easy. And though it never worked, moving on was the worst pain of all. It tasted like giving up, like defeat. It was bitter, and it was devastating, and it was pain.
1. Prologue

**Welcome! If you're looking for a great story about how love overcomes all trials, then you're not going to find it here. There will be love and trials and trials of love, but this is not a happy ending couple. **

**This is a collection of interconnected stories of the relationship between Toph and Aang and the obstacles that manage to trip them up time and time again (because as much as I support Toph and Aang together, I don't believe they would really work out "romantically".) Give it a chance and I hope you enjoy!**

******Disclaimer: This is a work of fan-fiction and therefore the author claims no rights to the original content.**

* * *

Prologue

* * *

"I'm leaving, Aang."

He'd been resting so peacefully. The pillow beneath him was so soft—like a cloud, but less wet—and he was so content to just lie on it, his face cradled by the down inside. The sun splayed across his bare back and it was so _pleasing_ to bask in its warmth. He wanted to lie there forever.

He wanted _her_ to lie there with him forever.

Disgruntled, Aang rolled to his side, her words knocking him out of his serenity.

He looked at her, standing in the doorway with messy hair and a half tied robe. Her hands cradled her face, rubbing at her temples to soothe some thought he couldn't hear and he knew she wouldn't speak. Her small mouth was drawn into a deep frown, the corners twitching with an emotion that he, with all his Avatar wisdom and power, couldn't identify. When at last her hands fell away from her face, he saw tears glistening in her beautiful foggy eyes and she held herself tightly.

This…didn't look good.

"You're leaving?" he asked as though hearing her repeat it would help him make sense of what she meant.

Toph nodded. She bit her lip. "I'm going home."

Home. Republic City. (It stung his heart that the sanctuary—_their_ sanctuary—they'd created in the Western Air Temple would never be what she called _home_.) Where Toph Beifong was the respected Chief of Police.

But Aang was simple and for his thirty-two years of life, he was naïve. (Katara had called it hopeful, Dhara had called it selective perception, and Zuko had very bluntly told the Avatar that he was more blind than their earthbending friend would ever be.)

He sat up straight, a thin sheet tangled around his hips, and fussed with the hair that lately he'd been far too lazy to shave (that she couldn't even see anyways). "I'll go get Appa. And then next month we can come back—there's an entire week of festivals for—"

She didn't even say a word, but the slow, constant shake of her head had him choking back his words. "I'm not coming back here with you, Aang."

And he did his very best not to be hurt by her words. "That's okay. We can always go somewhere else."

"No." Toph fidgeted in the doorway and her nerves made him more on edge than anything in his lifetime ever had. "I'm not coming back at all. I can't go with you anymore."

It was as though an explosion had set off in his head, potent and sharp with the grave understanding he had lacked. He reminded himself to breathe.

"Oh."

The small woman rocked on her heels, seeming all the world torn between launching herself at him and running as fast and far as her feet could take her (and she'd traveled the entire world a hundred times over).

"I have a daughter now, Aang. And Lin needs me more than you do—more than I think you ever did." He wanted to argue, but a harsh memory seized him of a similar argument with another woman who'd broken his heart decades before when it was still only growing. He _did_ need her. But Toph continued to rip him apart from the inside with her well-meaning words. "It's not fair to her for me to leave every month like we do. And—and you're married now, Aang. And you have two sons that need you like Lin needs me. And you have a wife who loves you—and I know that you love her."

But he didn't love her like he should.

Aang couldn't speak. Every month, when she was in his arms, he completely forgot about Dhara and Bumi and Tenzin—because every moment when she was in his presence, he went to a place where it was only the two of them. (He would not admit that he thought of her all the time, because that was a dangerous confession.)

Toph's voice was breaking with emotion. It took all his will to keep himself from running to her—begging her—to stay with him. His own heart clenched. "I think it's time that we let this go."

He stared at his hands, wondering if things would be different if the blue lines weren't there. "What about everything—all our—what about us?"

She breathed deeply, a shuddering breath that nearly knocked her down. "We've tried _us_, Aang. It's been fifteen years and somehow we still can't make _us_ work. It's selfish for us to keep trying."

He remembered a time when she never would have backed down from a fight. (But he knew that they shouldn't have had to fight.) "So it's better to give up and accept defeat?" _When something means this much to you?_

She turned her back on him. Though she could not see him, the knowledge that he could see her was too much. "Sometimes it's not about defeat; it's about knowing when it's wiser to surrender a losing fight. About letting go before you're beat." Neither of them saw the difference in her words—there was no difference. But she had herself convinced. _It was less painful_.

But it wasn't any less painful.

His tongue held tight to the words he'd learned not to say—not when they were _this real_. He loved her, but he wouldn't say it. He'd made the mistake and wasn't a glutton enough to repeat it.

Toph's hand ran against the door as she opened her mouth to speak, but found herself void of any words. She hung her head, long raven hair shielding her face from the world.

"Toph, I have one question." He had thousands, and even more pleas. But he'd settle for the single answer.

She couldn't do any better than a whisper. "Yes?"

The sheets crumpled beneath his heavy hands and the bone in his knuckles peered up at him through his skin. He clenched his eyes shut. He croaked, "Is she my daughter?"

She let her hand fall away from the stone and wished that she could not see. "I don't know." A sharp intake of breath came from one of them, but even on their death beds decades later, neither would know whose it had been. "But for the sake of our hearts, let's hope she's not." She didn't even say goodbye.

Almost immediately following the disappearance of her figure, his face fell into the plush pillow beneath him. It was like a cloud, blocking the light from his eyes, and like a cloud it was wet, but it tasted of salt. He was content to just lie on it, feeling as though the down inside would keep the world away, feeling as though hiding his face would make it better. The sun splayed across his bare back and it the heat burned against his skin.

All he wanted was for her to be beside him. Always.

And the Avatar fell to pieces silently.


	2. Birds

**Warning: this chapter includes slight themes of (possible) incest. Nothing explicit, just the idea. If that makes you uncomfortable, you've been warned.**

* * *

Birds

* * *

When Lin Beifong was eighteen years old, she told her mother she was in love.

Her mother was turning fifty years old that month and in that moment, Toph swore she was going to have a heart attack and die. She was in perfect health and just as strong as ever but in that moment, a feather could have knocked her down.

"Uncle Aang's Tenzin?"

Lin rolled her eyes though her mother couldn't see it. "Yes, Mom. _Tenzin_. It's not like there are a thousand 'Tenzins' running around Republic City—who else could I be talking about?"

Toph had listened to her daughter gush about the young boy and every now and then she would nod encouragingly, giving the girl the impression that she was actually paying attention. But Toph's mind was far from their conversation (Katara had once drank too much sake and told Toph that her eyes made it seem like she was staring into the vast beyond and ignoring everyone around her, and Toph found herself grateful of the concept for the first time). It was far away in a summer nearly two decades ago when her heart was torn between two men—one that loved her passionately and one that had already given his life to another woman.

The man that had loved her with his entire being was kind—he was good-natured and selfless and he would have _moved the earth_ to see her happy. But Toph had never been a girl to stand by and watch—so to speak—as men lived her life all around her. Toph was always happier moving the earth herself and sharing her little piece of the quick-moving world with those that could keep up. She wanted so badly to return his affection.

However, it was the man who she could never have that pulled her heart strings and brought her knees to a quivering halt. He was married—he was a father, even twenty years ago—and his family loved him in ways that she had tried but never fully grasped. She loved him the way a bird loved to fly, soaring through the passions the sky offered and loving him as long as her feathers were caressed by the wind. But he needed to be loved like a tree was loved by its roots. He needed a love that would keep, and a love that would build a foundation. She was a bird in his life and she would stop every spring and make her nest and their love would be strong. But when the air grew cold, her wings would take her far and he could not follow—though he wanted to just as she wished he could.

It was that summer—either beneath a large willow tree in the high of the night or in the safety of the grand temples of the west—that the true love of her life came to be. Her daughter, Lin, who became her world and her earth, her sky and her bird—the only earth that she would never shake or move or bend from its original. Lin was the most beautiful thing she'd ever touched with her soul or held in her arms and she loved her daughter more than she loved the joy of flight.

Lin finished her tale with a sigh. "I think I love him, Mom."

Toph had swallowed her nerves—it was a foreign sight that few in her lifetime had ever witnessed—and she held her daughter's hand between hers and told her nothing of the men in the summer or the birds that nested in trees. As she held her daughter's hand, she took soothing breaths and pretended that she _knew_.

And when Toph had told Lin that it would be the best course of action to _break up with Tenzin_, Lin had withdrew from her, faster than a whip. Her sharp tongue was faster still, throwing out defensive and accusatory words all at once—trying to _understand_ her mother's reason.

"I don't understand," Lin had whined. "You _like_ Tenzin."

Toph nodded once. "You're right—I adore Tenzin. He _is_ my godson. I just feel that the two of you would be better—not…dating."

Lin hadn't understood. (Years later after the relationship had fallen to pieces and he'd replaced her hand with another's, she still hadn't understood but it was too late by then—her mother was gone and Tenzin was no longer worth her heartache.)

Toph had traveled to the Avatar's home island to speak of the matter. His demure wife Dhara hadn't understood either, and Aang had asked her to leave them so that the two old friends could speak of the past. His wife had left and immediately his face fell.

He asked her what they could do, and neither had a single idea.

Toph's small hand was grasped in Aang's, and they'd sat in silence as they both pondered the past and their children's future and _what could have been_.

Tenzin returned from his classes and nearly walked in on the scene, but he thought better of it and let the two solemn adults to their silent conversation, questions weighing heavily on his mind but he knew they were questions best kept buried.

When Toph took her leave from the island at sundown, the two old friends shared a lingering hug that meant more than their words could say. His hand squeezed her shoulder and he watched the ferry she'd arrived on sail into the bay with sad eyes and a reopened wound where she'd once torn at his heart.

He watched her go and wished she could see his gaze.

They'd come to the only conclusion they could see—and it was the only one they could agree on.

They knew they could not make the choice for their respective children. But even worse, they couldn't bear the impact of making their secret known. There was too much that depended on it remaining secret, and they were too wise (or perhaps too afraid) to let it be known.

For the time, all they could do was hope. Hope that the two young teenagers would be wise and hope—with a stronger hope than either could even feel—that the summer spent in the Western Air Temple hadn't been the beginning of a life afterall.


	3. Home

**I swear, I'll write a happy chapter one of these days.**

* * *

Home

* * *

When they were sixty-four, everything changed.

It had grown so easy and so comfortable in their last twenty years to avoid one another. It was never a conscious or spoken agreement to do so, but the pull of their hearts kept them far away. Though they worked side by side time after time settling disputes and helping to keep peace in the city they'd both fought so hard for, they never truly accepted the others presence and always felt the strain.

Their powerful friendship had crumbled around them like an avalanche and the rocks that battered their bodies cut deeper than any physical damage could.

So when Tenzin appeared on her doorstep one rainy spring evening, she hadn't expected to react the way she did. She certainly didn't expect to move as quickly as she did, nearly jumping over him out the door without taking a moment to compose herself or grab a coat.

'_My father asked me not to tell you, but he doesn't have much longer. The doctors aren't sure he'll make it through the night.'_

In hindsight, Toph imagined she looked quite amusing running through the dim streets as fast as her old legs would carry her. But Toph had never cared how she looked to others (she didn't even care how she looked to herself, as she didn't have the sight to see it either way). She'd made it two blocks before her legs refused to go any further and her chest ached with air and Tenzin pulled up beside her in the Satomobile he'd arrived in. She didn't utter a word to the young airbender as they rode to the docks and he silently helped her climb into the saddle of his own skybison. He understood her silent, pensive attitude even though he struggled to understand her severe reaction to his grave news—because all his life, he had never seen Toph Beifong be anything but rational (even when she had a jesting air about her, she was always rational).

She didn't run into the house when they landed but she would have if her aching bones and stiff muscles would have allowed it. Instead she walked slowly, her dark hair—which even at the age of sixty-four had yet to see much grey—shrouding her face from the many residents that were kept awake with the troubling news that she'd only just received.

He was alone. The only furniture in his room was a bed that sat at the center. His breathing was deep and rasping and Toph found herself afraid to know how slow his heart was drumming in his chest. He looked up as she entered and though she could not see it, his face softened, heartbreaking in his apparent affection.

"Toph," he said. His voice was weak and from the sounds of it, she imagined it hurt him to speak. "What are you doing here?"

She thought it was more than obvious, and she ignored the question. She sat beside him on his bed (the lack of warmth coming off his skin sent a jolt of pain through her chest). He had no time to prepare himself—

She punched him hard in the shoulder.

It wasn't as hard as she used to hit him when they were young, but it still hurt. "Ow, hey!" Aang rubbed at his assaulted arm and his face fell into a deep frown. "What the hell was _that_ for, Toph?"

"You told Tenzin not to tell me you were _dying_. What the hell was _that_ about, Twinkletoes?" Her arms were crossed with anger and her mouth scowled in annoyance, but he could tell by the sharp lines between her brow that she was more worried than angry. He swallowed back the tears that pricked his eyes.

"I didn't want you to be here."

Her eyes tightened with anger at his response. "What is that supposed to mean? Don't you think I'd _want_ to be here—"

"I knew you would—"

"Don't you think I'd want to at least know you were _dying_?"

He hesitated then, and after a moment he very timidly he reached up a shaking, bony hand to cradle the side of her face. She was paying rapt attention at that, he knew, and her entire body straightened. "Toph," he swiped at a strand of hair that had fallen into her eyes. "I didn't want you here because I can't stand the idea of you being in pain when I can't be here to make it go away."

Tears began to pour from her clouded eyes. "I've had quite enough of your jerkbending, Twinkletoes." Aang rolled his eyes. "It would hurt more if I hadn't come and you're a _jerk_ for not considering that."

"I didn't want to say goodbye. I can't bear the thought of really losing you." His thumb wiped the tears away from her cheeks and she couldn't stand the distance any longer—she launched herself at him, effectively pinning him against his own bed as she cried into his shoulder.

"You can't ever lose me," she whispered so quietly he had to strain to hear.

"But I did lose you." His arms were tired and frail, but he held her as tightly as he could manage. So many times he could have kept her if he'd only chosen differently, and the memories ripped at him. "I lost you forever."

It pained them both to hear the words spoken aloud. "I was just misplaced," she assured him. But she was there now, and it wasn't too late—because it couldn't be. She chuckled, trying to lighten the mood. "Besides, you couldn't lose me if you tried."

"I wish I had more time." He inhaled the soft scent of her hair and Aang realized he was terrified of death—he hadn't been before, but now that she was _there_, he never wanted to leave (even if it was his duty as the Avatar). "There's so much I wish I could change—I wish I could tell you—"

Toph pressed a warm finger against his cold lips. "It doesn't matter. We have now—that's all I could ask for."

"I love you, Toph." He'd been so afraid for so long to tell her. But he had nothing to fear—as long as she was there. He kissed her lightly on her temple and he settled back into his pillow. Toph curled against him, her ear listening to his pulse, and when she returned the words he'd said so quietly, she knew they were the most sincere words she'd ever said.

For the first time in more than three decades, their bodies wound together in peace, legs tangled in a calm embrace with their chests rising and falling as one. When his last breath left his lips, she was fast asleep, her fist holding tightly to the crumpled fabric of his tunic. His hand fell limply from where it had been wound within her dark hair and in her slumber, her face nuzzled closer into his chest where his heart ceased to beat, a new sadness apparent in her lined face.

And it was then, as she stood outside the door that was barely cracked open, that his wife looked in on the two powerful benders and she realized for the first time everything she had not seen. For the first time, though she had been with them more than half her life, she saw them as they were in their hearts. She saw _them_.

When Toph awoke the next morning, Aang was gone.

The funeral was held two days later. Republic City was flooded with visitors from far and wide, each paying homage to the late Avatar. Aang's sons greeted those that came to the Island to offer their condolences and their mother remained in her rooms, mourning in silence. The monument that bore his likeness in the bay was adorned with flowers in symbolic respect and a ring of fire lit the site for a week.

When the crowds had finally departed, Toph finally left her home. She visited the small grave and didn't say a word as solemn tears rolled down her cheeks.

It became a ritual. For ten years, Toph Beifong traveled to the small pagoda on Air Temple Island and she ignored the curious stares of those brave enough to watch her. On the same day each year for ten years, through rain, snow, or hail, she walked up winding stairs and knelt on old knees before the simple stone shrine erected in the late Avatar's memory. She laid a single panda lily below the inscription that would never do justice, in her eyes, to the man it stood in place of. Her pale hand, growing frailer and more spotted as each year went by, trailed over the carved letters of his name that she could not see but she could feel—and she could feel it more than her heart could take.

On that day on the tenth year, however, Toph never came. The weather was fair, if not beautiful, and the sunlight shone down on the intricate memorial with the beauty of a painting. The Avatar's widow stood inside the temple that had been her home for so many years and she watched from the window. Birds came and went, singing merrily, and several monks came to pay their respects and even the tall, stately Fire Lord made an appearance that year. But Toph never came.

On that day in the small hours of the morning, Toph did not awake with the first rays of the sun as she usually did. She did not dress in her finest white dress to make the long journey to the island on the ferry that she disliked so adamantly.

For so long, his greatest want had been for them to have a place where they were home and together Where all they needed was one another and they would be content.—a place where their hearts would reside and they could call home. And ten years after he parted from the world, his greatest want came true.

That morning, Toph Beifong went home.


	4. Happy

Happy

* * *

When they were fifteen, they were not in love.

In fact, when they were fifteen they hardly liked one another. They'd traveled the world together for years so of course they _loved_ each other (in that companionable way that's part of the deal when you share everything with someone for so long) but they didn't _like_ each other and they did _not_ get along. It was nothing new by then.

In the months following the war's end, their habit of getting at each other's throats had grown steadily more and more frequent until it was abnormal for them _not_ to be fighting about something when they were within yelling distance of one another. It had come as a shock to some, because they figured that an amiable harmony would just be _automatic_ after their camaraderie that had been so crucial in the final days of the war. But that wasn't how they worked.

It was taxing (so taxing) to hear them bark back and forth at one another constantly—and Katara found it to be even more tiresome now that Sokka and Suki and Zuko had all gone off to pursue their own lives, leaving her as the sole witness to their griping and arguing and shouting and punching and kicking and rock-flinging and _for-the-love-of-Tui-and-La_ all that _mind-numbing shouting_.

But the thing is, even though they were incapable of coexisting peacefully, they weren't unhappy with it.

It wasn't so obvious in Toph—as she was almost as expressive and open about her feelings as the earth and stone she bent. She didn't seem outwardly to be bright-eyed (and she definitely was _never_ bushy-tailed) but her content with how they were showed in the small things. It showed in the oddly sincere quirk of her lips when she was being _almost-genuine_ in her sarcastic remark. It showed in the way she threw her friendly punches into their shoulders with a dash more gusto. It showed in the way her laugh chimed a little higher and carried a little further—and though they could neither see nor feel it, her heart felt lighter (like a little sparrow allowed to fly on its own for the first time) and she went to sleep each night with a soft smile adorning her face, guarded safely away by the rock slabs around her.

With Aang, it was a little clearer—the boy tended to wear his every fleeting emotion on the hem of his robes. Even though Aang would vent to Katara on the nightly basis that _Sifu Toph_ was _driving him up a wall_ and _why couldn't she just be a normal teenage girl, seriously what is up with that _(and _holy flying bison, she was giving him a splitting headache_), every morning he awoke and faced her with the same bright smile and twinkling eyes that were simply in his character no matter how thin they'd pulled and beat each other down the day before. He didn't quite understand it, but it was a comfort and it was familiar and it made him happy to know that some things didn't change.

But then things started to change. It wasn't slow and there was no ease to cushion the blow that knocked them off their feet (but wasn't that just how change worked).

It was quiet in the temple the day the change happened. She'd woken up in a particularly sunny mood given that she'd fallen asleep in Appa's saddle—which was her _least _favourite place to be (out of anywhere, ever). It must have been somewhere around midday because Toph had only just been roused by her roaring stomach from her eerie, corpse-like slumber (and spirits knows that she _never_ woke in the morning hours). The interior of the temple was vacant, but with little searching, Toph found Twinkletoes lurking about the courtyard (and oddly, Sugar Queen was nowhere to be found by her feet—she must have been at the falls).

She'd just finished the breakfast that Katara had left out for her when Aang wandered into the commons. His feet were heavier than they usually were and he was walking much slower—any yet, his heartbeat was sporadic, as if it couldn't decide between running for its proverbial life or crawling across the floor by its proverbial teeth.

She knew what that meant. _That_ was the feeling of Twinkletoes on his way to approach her about something she didn't want to be approached about and he wanted even less to be the one doing the approaching (he knew her well enough to know what words would result in rocks being pummeled towards his bald monk head).

Toph inadvertently felt her hackles rise—she'd been itching for a good spar all morning, but _this_ was not the kind of spar she was hoping for. She was in far too high of spirits to want to drudge up some attacks from the arsenal of her wit.

"If you're coming here to tell me that _Sweetness_ told you to tell me to 'clean my feet already', you can just tell her to forget about it. They're my feet and they will be as earthy as I want them to be."

She was a bit surprised that he'd jumped at the sound of her voice—she'd been certain that he had known she was there.

"I think it'd be better if you told her that yourself." Aang sounded despondent, and if she could have seen his face, she would have been rather put off by the vacant look in his eye and the harsh crinkle to his usually smiling face.

He didn't even _greet her_ (Aang _always_ greeted her).

Toph set her bowl down on the table before her as Aang slowly sat down next to her. She blew a huff of air towards the bangs that tickled her cheeks. "Are you and Snow Queen fighting again?" As much as Toph didn't really care one way or the other about the inner workings of the couple's relationship, it was demeaning to her when they were in a row. After all, Katara always played peace keeper between Toph and Aang—and it was very hard for her to do her peace keeping duties when she was playing a third party in their ongoing battles.

The teenaged Avatar shrugged, and Toph could feel the motion against the bare skin of her arms (how close was he _sitting?). _"Not exactly," he answered at last. "I think we're done fighting now."

Toph couldn't help her chuckle. _Typical Sugar Queen_. She didn't even _need_ the confirmation, but the blind girl loved hearing it too much to pass up. "Sweetness won again, didn't she?"

"She left me."

"Oh."

For a moment there was only the sound of soft breathing from the two benders. Toph's breath had hitched almost imperceptibly and she found her mind running itself into the ground as she mulled over the information she'd just been served. It wasn't that she didn't believe it—because, as much as it pained her to admit, she'd seen it coming for months—but she didn't quite believe that Katara had _actually_ cut the rope (she didn't think the waterbender really had it in her).

She fidgeted uncomfortably. "I'm sorry, Aang." She would have said more if she felt like she would have had anything to say to help him—but Toph was not a comforter, and she was better at wounding than soothing (that had always been on Katara).

Surprisingly, Aang didn't begin on a long tirade—he didn't ask her what he did wrong or if she thought there was a chance to fix things. It was hard to witness such a passionate and determined boy simply swallow his defeat. (Toph wasn't sure if she should hate Katara for _truly_ tearing him down to this.)

Aang sighed. He pushed himself to his feet and hovered over Toph for a moment. "I'm going to go pack. Tomorrow we're leaving for the Eastern Air Temple, so you should probably do the same."

He meditated long into the night.

The next morning, Aang was sitting on Appa's fuzzy head ready to leave. He'd packed her bag and his safely away in the saddle, and now he was just _waiting_ for her. Toph stood on the ground, wrapped in a tight embrace from the waterbender-who-was-abandoning-them and she didn't voice her confusion and she didn't ask _why_ Katara would just _leave_. They just said goodbye and Katara told her that her ship would be arriving at sundown and she wished them good travels and good luck.

With a flick of his wrists, Appa took to the sky and Aang wouldn't look down on the disappearing figure below. Toph sat in the saddle, groaning her discontent as usual, and it wasn't until they were flying through a star-studded sky that he finally gave in and answered to her complaining.

"Could you _go _any slower? At this rate, we'll be as old as the guru by the time we get to him."

"We can always drop you off at the nearest island if you'd rather walk."

"You're a pain, you know that, Twinkletoes?"

"Not one you can get rid of by picking your toes."

She flicked a pebble at him.

"But I can try."

They didn't like each other and they definitely didn't get along, but they were happy.


	5. Ghosts

**Hey guys. Sorry I've kinda fallen off the map. I lost my fanfiction password until now, so I couldn't upload. Also I AM DESPERATELY STUCK IN A WRITING BLOCK. If anyone would like to comment leaving suggestions for a chapter or even another story, I am open for suggestions. Help spread the Taangy love!**

**Also, if you're reading this and you haven't already, you should check out my Taang Week 2013 submission. It's in the same format, I just don't feel right attaching the chapters here. **

* * *

Ghosts

* * *

When they were thirty-four, she haunted him.

It wasn't confined to his sleeping hours like the forbidden memories of his blue-eyed first love. Instead, it was constant. It was as though he was twelve once more, being followed by an ethereal laugh and eyes as light and unseeing as a storm cloud that flew through a mystical swamp on the back of a boar. When he blinked, she was there, and when his eyes were open to the sun, she was in his mind. Even in his memories, her tongue, once so alluring and sweet, cut like a blade as she said things he never wanted to hear.

_They_ weren't anything anymore. He couldn't be thinking these things.

And when he was holding her daughter in his arms as he rocked her into a peaceful sleep, he knew that he definitely should not have felt so complete.

"Thanks for watching Lin, Twinkletoes."

Gently bouncing the sleeping infant on his arm, Aang smiled down at the little blind woman standing outside his door, illuminated solely by the small flame in his palm. He pushed open the door wider. "No problem. Would you like to come in? I was actually just making some tea."

"Tea?" Toph brushed past him into the house, pausing to press a kiss to the baby's soft black hair. Her arms crossed over her chest and the metal guards on her arm sounded a flat tone as it connected with the metal chest armor. "At this hour? Isn't it a little bit late to be hittin' the herbs?"

"It helps me sleep." Quietly, so as not to wake Lin, Aang slid the door shut and led the earthbender with a soft hand on her back into the kitchen. Toph sunk into a cushioned chair by the wall, curling her legs up beneath her, and she reached her arms out (away from Aang, but she never needed to know that) to take the sleeping Lin from her current cradle. Quiet like a ghost, the Avatar lowered her daughter into her arms, halting when her tiny pink face altered in the slightest sign of disturbance.

"She's fine," Toph murmured as she sensed why the taller man had stilled. "She's a heavy sleeper. I take her with me to the school sometimes and she doesn't even stir."

Aang cracked a smile. "Obviously she doesn't get that from you."

The woman hugged her daughter to her chest, her fingers stroking the soft skin of her cheek. She frowned. "My life required that I be on my guard at all times, including while I slept. No matter if I was at home, on the run, or traveling with you. I want Lin to be tough, but I don't want her to be afraid."

The Avatar frowned. "_Were_ you afraid?"

"I'm not afraid of anything, Twinkletoes." Her lips were set in a line of grim determination against showing any weakness. Aang set a steaming cup of tea on the table before her and guided her hand to where it rested before taking his seat across from her. He lifted the cup to his lips and almost swore he heard her say, "And yet, I still run."

He reached out through the silence and covered her small hand with his own. "You look exhausted, Toph."

She couldn't allow herself to linger at his touch like her heart was screaming at her to. She withdrew smoothly and sipped on her tea. "I'm not so sure I'd jump straight to exhausted. You know I appreciate you and Mrs. Fancy-feet watching Lin while I'm working, right?"

"I know you do. The boys have loved having her to play with. They're quite destructive when you get the three of them together." Aang chuckled low, but almost immediately sobered. Toph hadn't looked so serious for years. "I wish I could help you with—"

"No. This is a job for the police, not the Avatar. I have it under control."

Aang nodded, a gesture lost on her. "I understand. I still wish you would let me help you."

The police chief sighed. "This guy is annoying, but he's no '_big bad_'. All we need is for him to slip up one more time and then we'll have him right where we want him." She smirked. "No need to waste your spiritual mumbo-jumbo on a regular run-of-the-mill crime boss."

"I suppose."

It bothered him. He'd told her time and time again that it did, but each and every time she would yell at him about _wrongly preconceived notions based on gender_. He wasn't worried about her chasing after criminals because she was a woman—he'd learned before he even knew her name that such a worry would be asinine and petty. He was worried about her because she was _Toph_. Not because she was little or blind, and definitely not given the fact that she was the most amazing and revolutionary earthbender of their time. He worried because she held hold on his heart like no one else did or ever would and he worried about her every moment, whether she was in danger or not. She was too precious to him.

The tall airbender stared down at the murky tea in his cup. His brows were drawn together, as though puzzled, but his dark grey eyes were clear with a long-coming epiphany. His voice was low like the hum of the waves against the island shores.

"I'll always be chasing you."

"What are you—"

"You'll always be the beautiful laughing girl in the fancy dress from the swamp that I chase after but can't ever catch."

Toph's hand stilled against her daughter's downy hair and she tipped her head, pinning him with her empty gaze. "I—don't wear fancy dresses much anymore."

"And yet, I'll still never catch you, will I?"

"I've never been one for being held down." The porcelain cup had been empty of tea for long enough. Toph shoved it away with distaste.

"And I can't even catch up."

A heavy breath burst from her chest. Aang watched the delicate lines of her jaw harden, tense with the shrouded emotion that was threatening to spill from her glassy eyes. She rose to her feet, slowly, carefully so as not to jostle Lin awake.

"We should be getting home. It's very late." Nodding, he wrapped an arm around her narrow shoulders and walked her back to the door where she'd blown into his home a thousand times before like a storm he was all too willing to let batter him. Outside, the night was calm and the summer air brushed about the grass. Wind blew in from Yue Bay and the soft scent of her skin caressed his senses, taking him back like a rock to the chest.

Toph paused as she felt Aang fall against the doorframe.

"Twinkletoes?" His heart was sporadic, thrumming like a baby bird and then slowing to a steady pattern without warning. She couldn't see through the wooden planks beneath her feet, but his hand tangling through her thick dark hair was close enough she could feel his heart and his breath against her cheeks. She shuddered. "Hey, Aang, personal space, ple—"

"We didn't make it, Toph."

Her eyes widened and she pulled abruptly out of his reach, despite the knowledge that the motion was blinding to her. "This is not an appropriate conversation for us to have now. Or ever, really." Her feet fumbled as she searched for the steps.

"As if you've ever cared about what is appropriate." Aang reached out and grasped her arm, helping her down to the ground, but he kept hold of her, desperately. He pressed his forehead against hers. "We were so right, Toph. Why didn't we make it?"

"Why do you persist on asking me stupid questions?

"Because you never answer."

This time, Toph shoved him back. "Stop it, Aang," she seethed in a hushed voice. "We can't talk about this—we can't _do_ this anymore!" Unconsciously, she had moved Lin just-so that her hands covered the baby's ears, as though she could hear or understand the argument.

"I know that," he whispered back. Aang sighed and sunk onto the nearest step, his head falling into his hands. "I'm not trying to change anything, I promise. I understand why we can't—be like we were." The earthbender's head bent and she took a step back, a step towards the small boat that would take her away from temptation. Aang didn't raise his head, but he stared through his long fingers up at her, his mouth pulled down at the corners. "I just wish I knew where we went wrong.

She wished that she knew as well.

There were so many things that came to mind. They were different—opposites, really. She was sarcastic and brash while he was as honest as an open book (whatever that expression meant) and preferred to handle delicate situations…delicately.

They'd managed to work past that though. What they hadn't been able to make work was _them_. Simple and honest, they were simply doomed. Like the moon pulled the tide, they were doomed to a life of pushing and pulling and falling and jumping. He was prone to running away (though he had stopped running so much) and she would push and strike so _low_ until he crumbled (though she was working on _not _doing that—she didn't want to be like her parents—and instead she'd taken to running like he used to. Like she was doing now). If they lasted, she would have just destroyed him.

But then, he wasn't simply her Aang; he was the Avatar. She couldn't be responsible for destroying him. He was far too precious to the world.

Toph's heart panged and she did not speak any of the reasons that she had come up with.

"We were too young."


End file.
